


Minute

by LuvEwan



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Drama, Dubious Consent, First Time, Graphic Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Power Imbalance, Top Qui-Gon, bottom obi-wan, master/padawan relationship, repost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:53:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21754054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuvEwan/pseuds/LuvEwan
Summary: Later he would try to remember exactly what happened that afternoon, after he promised Qui-Gon absolute forgiveness. He should have memorized every detail about that moment, because it was the passage of one life into another, a banquet after long fasting, the satiation of a hunger he had not recognized, before.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 22
Kudos: 308





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story, more than others, presents an OOC version of Qui-Gon. I just wanted to write this and so I did.

“the saddest thing is to be  
a minute to someone,  
when you’ve made them your eternity.”-sanober kahn

—

Sometimes there was a banquet, sometimes a scavenge. That night was a banquet, more food than any of them could eat, a show of wealth and abundance. The table was long, with an intricate runner embroidered in gold and silver, and every seat taken. A huge, glazed roba beast served as centerpiece. 

Their hosts made sure to mention that such a rare delicacy was a bit costly—and then went on to name a number that made Obi-Wan choke on the frozen fruit cubes in his fizz-water. Luckily, no one else noticed, so absorbed in the decadent meal and conversation.

Except his Master, who always noticed, especially when it was something Obi-Wan would rather he didn’t. Qui-Gon smirked behind a chalice, and nudged his Padawan in the Force. This kind of mindless luxury amused and irritated Qui-Gon in equal measure. 

And yet, the excessively wealthy seemed determined to impress Qui-Gon Jinn. If only they knew, Obi-Wan mused, that the man preferred slurping hobo soup with barefoot villagers, and that he had once gone twelve days without bathing. Of course, one would not surmise the truth from the way Qui-Gon presented himself that night, his brown hair swept neatly out of his face, tunics pressed and blue eyes gleaming in the perfectly appointed candlelight. 

A band played in the corner of the grand hall, a wildly popular musical group on Tanaab, the Duchess assured them. “Do you like music, Master Jinn?” 

Qui-Gon finished chewing and took a deep drink of wine. “Usually. You have provided fine entertainment for this exceptional meal, my lady. And I am certain your nuptials shall provide a lasting connection between Tanaab and Norulac.” 

“My fiancé provides me a fine entertainment of his own.” Her lips were glossed with the dark wine. She flicked a manicured brow at the Jedi. “Now that is one thing I _know_ you do not like.”

The aforementioned fiancé leaned close to her and whispered something in her ear. She tittered, tracing her finger up and down his arm. A few other guests chuckled softly. 

Obi-Wan took up his glass again, and realized the table runner’s pattern was actually an artful depiction of…well, fine entertainment. 

“A common misconception, Duchess Astu.” Qui-Gon said, long, broad fingers curled casually around the delicate chalice. Reflections of amber candle glow flickered in his eyes, cast shadows across his face. “The Jedi Order merely prevents romantic attachments.”

The woman pulled away from her attentive mate with curiosity. She leaned forward, her half-exposed, creamy décolletage pressing against the table’s edge. “What is one without the other, Master Jedi?”

Obi-Wan’s throat was suddenly dry. It was not the first time the inappropriate topic had been broached on an assignment, but he had never grown out of his distaste for such crude, invasive talk. 

Qui-Gon gave a small shrug. “The heart and the body are entwined, but two different things entirely. Some of us learn to separate them.”

“Out of necessity?”

Qui-Gon held her gaze, as a smile spread across his face. “Out of sagacity.”

Obi-Wan looked down, and hoped the burn in his cheeks was not visible to the twenty other guests now openly staring in their direction. His food sat in a cold lump in his gut. This was not the preferred method of answering such inquiries. Even for an unconventional Jedi like Qui-Gon, it was too...too much. When he lifted his eyes, several bejeweled men and women in elegant clothing were still watching him. Appraising. 

Wondering.

He bit the inside corner of his cheek, something he usually did during Council sessions, when Qui-Gon was digging a sizable hole for himself (for them both). Obi-Wan had achieved senior Padawan status over a year ago, but he was not at the point where he would publicly correct or challenge his teacher. 

“I suppose the body has needs, even if the heart is unwilling,” The Duchess concluded, “it just strikes me as a rather sad existence.” She glanced at Obi-Wan. “ _You_ , however, are all heart. I can tell.”

Obi-Wan dipped his head in acknowledgement of the compliment. At least, he assumed it was a compliment.

Qui-Gon looked at his apprentice from across the table. “In that, we are in total agreement, m’lady.” Dessert was served, and the band sang a song Obi-Wan did not recognize, and his face felt like it was on fire for the rest of the night. 

——-

A scavenge.

They had been tracking the alleged assassin through Rannon’s remote forests for days, not sleeping. Water was dwindling, less than a canteen left to share, and no food except what could be found in the forest. Berries and leaves, mostly.

Qui-Gon was eating a black insect with a bulbous, yellow belly. When he bit into it, yolk burst onto his teeth. He caught Obi-Wan’s disgusted expression and spared a moment to laugh. “Bugs are in everything. I hate to be the one to tell you, Padawan.”

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes. “Yes, you seem simply sick about it.” He popped a plump berry in his mouth, but the tactile explosion reminded him of his Master’s chosen entree, and he had to force himself to swallow. An owl’s shrill call echoed through the trees. He stood with his hands on his hips, looking up at the darkening sky. He wasn’t keen on spending another long night traipsing through weeds and brambles. 

“We’ll have to sleep tonight,” Qui-Gon decided. He stood among the trees, still serene despite exhaustion, still commanding despite dirty tunics. “We’ll take turns.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Yes, Master.”

They kept walking until the moon replaced the sun. This moon was tinged with green, and gave off strange light. Qui-Gon indicated a spot beneath a mature tree, and the two Jedi settled beneath it. 

“You can sleep first, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon assumed a meditative pose, back against the thick tree trunk, hair unbound.

It was a quiet kindness. Qui-Gon routinely took first watch on missions such as these, and sometimes would not wake his apprentice until morning. “Thanks,” Obi-Wan whispered. He was too tired to argue. He was younger than Qui-Gon, but he knew he was not stronger, and probably never would be. He needed the sleep. 

Obi-Wan took a sip from the canteen and curled in the grass near Qui-Gon, pulling his robe close against the cool air. The Force roiled—the assassin had not been caught, tomorrow was uncertain. Yet it was calm in the grass, in the forest, in the easy silence between them. He closed his eyes.

Fingers grazed the edges of his hair, and he was asleep.

—-

Sometime later, he heard a noise, an animal’s gasp, cutting through the night. He tensed but did not move, waiting for his mind to catch up to his senses. 

Another low moan, and he opened his eyes, hand brushing against the saber at his hip. He saw a green haze; for a moment, he expected to see Qui-Gon’s weapon but then realized it was the glow of Rannon’s moon.

Qui-Gon was limned in viridescence, head tilted back to touch the tree. Touch. He was touching himself. 

Obi-Wan shut his eyes. His heart pounded hard inside his chest. He was not meant to see…that. 

————-

He did not tell Qui-Gon, out of necessity, out of sagacity. 

It was considerably more difficult to forget. 

————-

Obi-Wan remembered when he was an initiate and Bant would sit with him by the fountains. They would share their dreams, as children do. He imagined all the places he would go and people he would meet, the lives he would save and the wrongs he would right. A mission seemed like the most sacred thing, the very purpose of a Jedi’s existence. 

How could he have known the reality back then, that many assignments would end in failure, or vagueness, or utter frustration. That he would take lives as well as save them, and there were places and people he wished he had never encountered. 

He was a senior apprentice, and he had killed three men on their latest mission. 

It was the way of things.

He stood with his arms folded in his cloak sleeves, waiting for the transport to arrive. Qui-Gon was at his side, not speaking. 

A Jedi did for the greater good. 

“Obi-Wan,” his Master said at last. 

Obi-Wan lifted his head. 

“I would tell you it becomes easier, but I have never lied to you. I cannot lie to you.” Qui-Gon traced a smooth cheek with his fingertip. 

Qui-Gon had killed too. On this mission, and many others. 

Obi-Wan bowed in reverence. His long braid swung with the movement. The approaching ship rumbled the ground beneath them. “Thank you, Master.”

As the transport drew closer, the wind picked up, and Qui-Gon captured Obi-Wan’s face in both of his broad hands. “You are good, Obi-Wan. It should never become easier.”

Obi-Wan was twenty three, and could not recall when he had last cried. He did not cry at the gentle words, or when his Master pressed a dry kiss to his mouth.

Then the transport landed.

——-

He tried to meditate, but it was always more difficult in space, especially because he hated flying. When he sought his center, he found dead men, and Qui-Gon’s lips against his. 

Chaste. A chaste kiss. 

——

On a brief visit home, Obi-Wan watched old friends meet, Masters interacting with crechelings, initiates and Padawans at play. He did not see any of them kiss each other. 

Qui-Gon had been asked to observe a Senate session relevant to their next assignment. He left at dawn, and did not return until dusk had painted the Coruscanti sky in burnished orange and violet. Obi-Wan was on the small balcony of their quarters, and glanced up as he heard, _felt_ , his teacher enter. 

The man walked down the hall, swiftly disappearing from sight. 

He turned back to the cityscape, an image static but ever changing, manic and comforting. They were departing for Zelos II in a few hours. 

His mind must have wandered because suddenly Qui-Gon was next to him, in plain sleep tunics, leaning on the railing. The man looked a little deflated. “It is decided. I will not make a second career in politics.”

Obi-Wan swallowed his laughter. “I weep for the future of the Senate.”

Qui-Gon sighed. “After what I saw today, so do I.” He feigned a shiver. “When you’ve been knighted, the bureaucracy and politicians will become unbearable, I am certain.” He stretched his arm across Obi-Wan’s back, to grip his shoulder. They stood watching the sun recede.

Obi-Wan had been thinking of that lately—knighthood. He longed for it and feared it in equal measure. He knew that meant he wasn’t ready. He studied the familiar calluses on Qui-Gon’s hand. So familiar that sometimes he looked at his own hands and expected to find the same scars and rough spots. He had spent half of his life beside Qui-Gon. He wanted to say--

_“When I’ve been knighted, our distance will become unbearable.”_

But it was not proper, so instead he leaned very slightly into his Master and remained silent.

——-

The mission had entailed a lot of waiting. And political speeches. Followed by more waiting. Now they were waiting to leave, transport ready at the clearing, but the pinched-faced Senator who would be accompanying them back to Coruscant had commed Qui-Gon to say he would be late. 

An hour, perhaps. No more than three. 

Zellos II was covered in forest and lakes. Obi-Wan was less attuned to the Living Force than his Master, but after days in the company of politicians, being surrounded by uncomplicated nature was a welcome relief. He let it wash the stress and tension of the mission away. And it did, mostly. 

“Well,” Qui-Gon clipped the comm onto his belt and surveyed the empty forest around them. “At least the birds won’t start bickering over estate taxes.” He walked over and sat under a tree, patting the space beside him. 

Obi-Wan sank down with a thankful exhale. “Perhaps they do, and we just don’t know it. Perhaps birds are as insufferable as the rest of us.”

Qui-Gon chuckled. “Perish the thought. Though I don’t find you insufferable at all, Obi-Wan.” 

Obi-Wan smirked, resting his head on the tree. “That’s only because I have yet to unleash my passionate rant on estate taxes.”

The midday sun bled through the holes in the canopy of leaves, and Qui-Gon’s eyes reminded Obi-Wan of water in summertime. “Just warn me before you do, so I can cut off my ears.” Qui-Gon said. He stretched his long legs out in front of him. “It will be awhile before the good Senator is here.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes against the sun’s glare. “Not long enough...speaking of insufferable.” He grumbled. 

Qui-Gon laughed under his breath and folded his hands on his stomach. 

They had spent ten years together. By now, there remained no impulse to fill empty spaces in conversation. 

Obi-Wan had every responsible intention to use their spare time to meditate, but the sun was very bright, and it made him sluggish. He felt a pleasant heaviness in his limbs. He was just drifting off when Qui-Gon shifted beside him.

“Obi-Wan?”

Qui-Gon said his name so quietly, as if it was the middle of the night, and he was afraid of waking anyone else. Obi-Wan did not sense urgency, so he did not move. “Hmm?”

A hesitant pause, which was unusual enough on its own for Obi-Wan to open his eyes and sit straighter.

Qui-Gon was looking at him. “Do you remember the Rannon assignment?”

It had been two years since that particular assassin escaped capture, and beneath a tree like this one, Obi-Wan had accidentally seen—“Yes.” 

Qui-Gon’s gaze remained fixed, any emotion there maddeningly elusive. He wet his lips. “I know you awakened that night, as I was...in a private moment.”

Never had Obi-Wan hoped for the annoying Senator‘s presence, until now. Sweat rolled down his face. He struggled to preserve his shields amid the rush of shame. The truth was that he thought of it, even when he tried not to think of it: the green moon, the breeze, the bend of Qui-Gon’s neck and the curve of his fingers, the shock of that engorged and leaking tip. 

“You have nothing to feel guilty about.” Qui-Gon assured him, laying his hand atop Obi-Wan’s in the warm grass. “The fault was mine. I did not consider how such an act would disturb you, in more than one sense.”

Obi-Wan looked down at their hands. He felt a shiver along his skin, despite the heat. “I was not disturbed, Qui-Gon.”

Qui-Gon’s hand tightened over his. “No?”

Obi-Wan lifted his eyes. He felt that he was on the precipice of something. His heart hammered in his chest. “No,” he answered, “Why would I be disturbed?” 

“You quell your own urges. I have sensed it, many times.” The older man told him. “I’ve, well, worried you are denying yourself in order to be a better Jedi. But in my life, I have found that prolonged avoidance does not solve anything, because biology is not a problem to be solved.”

Obi-Wan swallowed. “I don’t…” _Many times_? His mind raced. It was not something he consciously curbed. He was just disciplined. Or so he thought. “I apologize for my lack of shielding.”

Qui-Gon smiled. He stroked Obi-Wan’s chin. “I wasn’t asking for an apology.”

A touch had never felt like… His mouth quivered, as if Qui-Gon’s fingers had glitched his nerves. “Are you asking for something else?” Obi-Wan had the strangest sensation of watching himself from outside his body as he posed a question to his own Master that was against the Code. _Heretical._

What would the Council say?

But more important than that, he thought, what would _Qui-Gon_ say? 

What did Obi-Wan _want_ him to say? 

Qui-Gon studied him with those keen, perceptive eyes. It was getting warmer. His long neck glistened. “Forgiveness.” The man finally answered. 

Obi-Wan had stopped breathing. He did not know how to interpret the words, but he heard himself respond with the only thing he could possibly say: “I forgive you anything, Master.”

Qui-Gon reached out and touched his cheek. “I know.” Slowly, his hand slid down along Obi-Wan’s jaw. His thumb stilled in the space where lips slightly parted.

An invitation.

To accept, Obi-Wan did not resist. Qui-Gon’s thumb pressed inside, searching, as he leaned forward, wrapping his other hand around the nape of Obi-Wan’s neck. Obi-Wan let his Master roam his mouth with that thumb, until their eyes met and the sun flared and the need between them surged and then Obi-Wan sucked on the part of Qui-Gon, a solid, warm part of _Qui-Gon_ , that filled his mouth. 

Qui-Gon’s eyes closed as Obi-Wan sucked harder. “Force forgive me.” He whispered and pushed Obi-Wan back in the grass, quickly replaced his thumb with something thicker, more insistent.

Obi-Wan gasped around the hard girth. He had never smelled the musk of another man, and now his senses were overwhelmed by scent, skin, hair,. All familiar and foreign. Qui-Gon’s thighs pressed around his face. He could feel the tension corded through muscle and loin. His own erection was hot and straining painfully within his leggings. 

He clutched handfuls of grass, swallowing the salt gathering in his throat. 

Qui-Gon muttered strings of syllables Obi-Wan did not recognize, maybe from an alien language, or nonsense. He dragged his hand through Obi-Wan’s hair, gripped it at the scalp, guiding his rigid cock in and out of its wet sheath. 

Obi-Wan was just beginning to catch up to the intense rhythm when Qui-Gon withdrew. He leaned back on his knees, Obi-Wan still beneath him, and the heavy, flushed cock jutting out from the opening in his leggings. The sun streamed behind Qui-Gon’s head, and he looked beautiful, omnipotent…impossible to disobey.

“Only if you want it…” Qui-Gon rasped, hands pausing on Obi-Wan’s hips, “...it’s just been so long…”

Obi-Wan saw the same man in those blue eyes that he had always known, and it was with implicit trust that he slid his own trousers down far enough to splay open his thighs.

He did not know what to expect, but it was more, a sudden pressure with only his own saliva to ease the way. Qui-Gon did not move by inches--all at once, they were joined. For a moment, his world reduced to an excruciating, burning fullness, but Qui-Gon seemed unaffected. Certainly it had not curbed his desire. 

“Yes, yes,” he chanted, “Force, that’s tight.”

Obi-Wan dropped his forearm across his eyes, trying to shut out the light and overwhelming images, trying to adjust to the idea that his Master was making love to him in the middle of this ordinary day.

Time was lost somewhere in the thrusts and sweat and moaning. Eventually Obi-Wan opened his eyes and gazed up at the cloudless sky, on his knees, Qui-Gon bending into him again and again, his long hair brushing against Obi-Wan’s skin. The pain was gone; it was the pleasure he could barely stand, and he grappled for Qui-Gon’s presence in the Force, aching to connect to him in that way as much as their physical union. But he found Qui-Gon unresponsive within that plane. 

Silent.

His fingernails dug into the grass and dirt. Qui-Gon drove into him, hitting a deep, sweet and helpless spot and then retreating before it could send him over the edge. He had not known he could feel this, and he was undone by it, tears streaming down his face.

Qui-Gon’s breath was warm against his ear. “The Senator.. Have to finish.” And gripped Obi-Wan’s cock around the head without slowing his pounding cadence, the combination so bright and acute it wrenched an immediate gasp of release from Obi-Wan. The residual pulses from his orgasm squeezed the huge length inside him.

“Gods… _yes...oh_ …” Qui-Gon pushed twice more and Obi-Wan remained still as wet warmth bloomed inside him. 

They dropped into the grass, panting. Obi-Wan glanced at Qui-Gon and simultaneously they realized---

The sound of crunching leaves, rapidly approaching.

Qui-Gon was on his feet and striding toward the transport while Obi-Wan still fumbled with his trousers. He rushed to meet his Master, who was already bowing to the ill-timed Zellosian Senator. 

Obi-Wan stood in his customary position, beside and two steps behind his Master, only half-listening to the Senator drone. The politician scanned him up and down, lifted an eyebrow.

“Padawan Kenobi, if I may be so bold, you look...mussed.”

He flushed, straightening his nerf tail and smoothing a hand over his hair. 

“Our apologies, sir, my apprentice fell asleep in the sun.” Qui-Gon effortlessly interjected, clapping Obi-Wan’s back. “We spend so much of our time cooped up in ships, you see.”

“Ah, of course.” The Senator smiled. “I hope you enjoyed it.”

Obi-Wan tipped his head a little in affirmation. “Thank you, sir.” He followed the two men up the ramp. If his heart beat with any more fervor, it would explode out of his chest. He readied for takeoff, following Qui-Gon’s murmured commands, years of training allowing him to ignore the cooling seed of his Master’s passion, trickling from his sore buttocks. 

Later he would try to remember exactly what happened that afternoon, after he promised Qui-Gon absolute forgiveness. He should have memorized every detail about that moment, because it was the passage of one life into another, a banquet after long fasting, the satiation of a hunger he had not recognized, before. 

—-


	2. Chapter 2

There was always something to do, somewhere to be going. They did not talk about Zellos II, but they talked about many other things and life went on in its normal way. 

Obi-Wan himself would not believe what happened, except that Qui-Gon’s lustful voice often penetrated his thoughts, those satisfied grunts, “ _yes, yes_ ”. He would stand next to his Master as the man spoke to a dignitary or king and think how he knew the way Qui-Gon sounded as he made love, not at all the serene and dignified Jedi; Obi-Wan wondered if anyone could tell that they had made love together. 

His curiosity ripened to anxiety when they returned to the Temple, surrounded by those who knew them best, who could perceive subtle shifts in the Force. At first, it was nearly unbearable to meet the gaze of friends and mentors. 

Did they see that he was different? 

Because Obi-Wan knew he was changed by the revelation that his Master saw him as more than a student. He had never paid much attention to his own appearance, but now he would look in the mirror and wonder what it was that Qui-Gon liked about him, why it was worth the immense risks just to touch Obi-Wan when he could have chosen countless others. 

Did Qui-Gon look at him and see a beautiful person? Obi-Wan felt like a fool for not intrinsically understanding the realm of sex. He had taken the mandatory classes, learned about anatomy and procreation, but it had seemed like a distant concept, as he had been only fourteen at the time and still mortified by his own body. When he grew older, he eschewed intimacy as he did possessions and attachments, because to his way of thinking they were all intertwined--he could not imagine wanting to share the most private parts of himself with another person, only to never seen them again. 

But sharing them with Qui-Gon felt natural. It had felt _good_ , if incomplete, since they were rushed, and Obi-Wan utterly unprepared for the encounter. The problem was that their closeness made a physical act spiritual, turned the needs of the body into the complicated desires of heart. There was a reason Masters and Padawans did not sleep together. 

He was laying on the lawn in the Gardens, a soft and fragrant bed that too easily reminded him of how Qui-Gon arranged him in the sun-warmed grass that day. He knew they could not do it again, but he breathed harder when he thought about Qui-Gon’s hands roaming his body, considering what it might feel like to go slower, to kiss and explore each other, where they didn’t have to worry about intrusions. 

Obi-Wan rubbed his eyes with the heel of a hand. _Blast it_. He had not thought his actions through and he was failing miserably at living with them. Qui-Gon, meanwhile, continued as if taking his apprentice’s virginity was as inconsequential as brewing a pot of tea. 

_Because he knows the dangers of attachment. He knows sex is just sex. It IS inconsequential. I am the one who has it wrong._

He crossed his arms in front of his face and did not move until he was able to clear his mind. He was there a long time.

____

Group spars were a particular favorite among Padawans. Obi-Wan, Garen, Siri and a Gamandar apprentice he had only met on a handful of occasions faced off against each other in the salles. 

Knighthood was a constant light on the horizon for them. Where spars were once an opportunity for dramatic flips and exaggerated strikes, senior apprentices focused on testing new techniques, honing their skills and looking for holes in their peers’ defenses. Even a spontaneous scrimmage was to be treated like a serious battle, every move a weighted calculation, especially with their Masters in audience.

The contest ended when Obi-Wan disarmed Garen and the winded Gamandar in one swift movement. Siri’s green eyes flashed with banked challenge before she took a step back, signaling forfeit. Sweat ran from her temples down the curve of her neck. “Good job,” she called to Obi-Wan as she powered down her saber.

Garen jumped smoothly to his feet. “Aren’t you glad we took it easy on you?” He grinned, pulling off his thin undertunic and using it to mop his soaking hair and neck. “Gruk and I just hate thinking of you embarrassing yourself in front of Siri, not to mention Master Jinn.”

Obi-Wan laughed, following his friend’s lead and patting himself halfway dry with his balled up tunic. “I appreciate your compassion, Garen.”

“Oh please,” Siri interjected, smoothing her blonde hair and braid. Her cheeks were pink from exertion. “He’s embarrassed himself in front of me so often, I’m immune.” She nudged him in the arm with her shoulder, and her breast brushed against him. He felt a rush from his gut and down lower, and he stumbled on his usual sarcastic comeback. 

Siri just smiled. She had made no effort to clean off the sweat, and it pooled along her collarbone, gleamed on the smooth skin of her chest where her tunic parted. “But I’m not immune to _everything_ ,” she murmured as she walked past.

Obi-Wan swallowed, furtively glancing in her direction before heading over to the stands. 

“That was well done,” Qui-Gon stood and squeezed his shoulder. “Although if Padawan Tachi had been paying closer attention, she would have noticed you left a crucial opening on your left side several times.”

He had a good idea why Siri had been distracted, but Obi-Wan felt a hot flush spreading from his shoulder where Qui-Gon had touched him. Siri had touched him there too, but it didn’t feel the same. Qui-Gon had not touched him for any reason since Zallos II. 

_There is no passion. There is serenity._

“Thank you, Master. I will be more mindful of reducing my vulnerabilities.” Obi-Wan bowed. “Do you…have you eaten?”

Qui-Gon tied his hair back. “Not since this morning. But I think we should work on reducing those vulnerabilities first.”

\-----

Sparring with Qui-Gon was like a dance, the Force music in their blood, their blades streaming ribbons of blue and green in the darkness.

Turning off the lights sharpened the other senses. They crossed the entire salle as they fought, weapons clashing and bare feet slapping against the floor. 

It was barely different than fighting himself, except that he was defeated much quicker. 

\----

After the spar, they walked to the showers together. 

“I advise you not to get too close,” Obi-Wan warned. The dried sweat from his earlier spar mingled with the fresh perspiration from their bout. “I feel like _I’m_ too close to me right now.”

Qui-Gon laughed, and the rich peals reverberated off the walls. “I doubt I smell much like dew flowers myself.”

When they were standing at the empty stalls, Obi-Wan became aware of his bare skin against the cool recycled air, and the fact that they were alone. His heart beat in his throat. 

Qui-Gon hung towels for them both and began unraveling his tunics. “Padawan Tachi seems to have taken an interest in you.”

Obi-Wan palmed the shower controls. The spray of water provided a buffer against uncomfortable silence. 

“Have you noticed?” Qui-Gon asked, when no response came. 

Obi-Wan glanced up at the man’s face. He shrugged. “Siri is a friend…” He cleared his throat. “Only that.”

Qui-Gon unbound his hair and it spilled down his broad shoulders. Grey mixed with chestnut at his temples, in his beard, in the patch of curlier hair on his chest. “That is…” 

“The truth.” Obi-Wan finished. He let his leggings fall around his feet and watched the subtle flare of Qui-Gon’s nostrils in response. He walked into the stall and stood under the rain, feeling the water course down his stomach and legs. 

Qui-Gon remained outside the shower, eyes blue and piercing amid the low, yellow lights. “You were good, Obi-Wan.”

“Thank you, Master. I was cognizant of the holes in my left defense.” 

“Are you still?” Qui-Gon reached across the mist, tracing his fingers along the muscle of Obi-Wan’s left flank. 

Obi-Wan felt himself hardening. The water pounded on his back. He was helpless against even this. He could drown in this, the want and need. 

Qui-Gon looked at him through the gathering steam. The hot water beaded on his forehead. “You were so good. I find myself...wanting to ask…”

Obi-Wan’s hand drifted down to grasp Qui-Gon’s. “You never have to ask. I think about it too. All the time.” 

He was pushed against the shower wall. Qui-Gon pressed close, erection insistent despite heavy, sopping trousers. He grabbed Obi-Wan’s jaw in his hand.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and leaned forward, his lips trembling and seeking.

But Qui-Gon’s mouth went to his ear. “I would take you like this. Just like this.”

Obi-Wan shuddered. He did not know if he was lightheaded from the steam or the onslaught of lust and emotion. ” _Yes_.”

“It was wrong the first time. I know it was your first time.” Qui-Gon whispered. 

With the water pelting down around them, it was like they were insulated from the rest of the universe, just the two of them in the storm. Obi-Wan shook his head. “I didn’t think it was wrong.”

Qui-Gon’s hair looked darker from the water, and plastered to the sides of his face. A strand was caught in the corner of his mouth. “You are my apprentice.”

Obi-Wan gently pulled it away. “And I am a man. Just as you are. I’m telling you yes. Yes, yes, yes.”

Qui-Gon grasped his jaw again, but softer, studying Obi-Wan’s face. “You don’t know any better, Obi-Wan. If we were discovered, the Council could reassign you to another Master.”

A few tears slipped from his eyes, were lost in the shower’s deluge, or he hoped they were. “You can’t do this to me. I...am not the person I was before that day. Everything looks different. I cannot sleep—“

“It was wrong. I’m sorry. I would take it back…”

“Except you don’t want to. Live in the moment,” Obi-Wan quoted one of the man’s favorite mantras with a desperate smile. “In the moment I am a man giving you permission.”

Qui-Gon chuckled. “You are beautiful. But you cannot give permission in this.” He stepped out of the stall and peeled off his waterlogged leggings, revealing the wet, muscled buttocks beneath. His cock was long, thick and completely interested. 

_You are beautiful._

The words repeated in Obi-Wan’s head, a melting warmth in his stomach.

_You are beautiful._

He looked at Qui-Gon’s straining shaft and remembered suddenly the pain of it slamming inside him. It seemed too enormous to fit where he yearned for it to go. Would it hurt every time?

It didn’t matter. 

He shut off the water and stood, his own erection unflagging, the only sound in the room the water dripping from his body. “If I cannot give permission, then I give my forgiveness. Take me again and I’ll forgive you again.”

And again and again and again.

Qui-Gon stared at him for excruciating seconds. “Not here.” He decided at last.

“Then our rooms, where it’s private—“

“No,” Qui-Gon said quietly, shortening the gap between them. “The Temple is never private. It will have to wait until we are assigned another mission.” He rubbed Obi-Wan’s bottom lip with a faint smile. “And then you can show me how eager you are to forgive me.”

——

Obi-Wan showed him eight days later, in a cramped and musty room on Da’nor. Qui-Gon bent him over a chair as the door closed, spit on his fingers and sunk three of them into Obi-Wan’s hole.

The initial stretch tore a cry from Obi-Wan. Even the man’s fingers felt impossibly long, and a moment ago they had been discussing the mission. 

Qui-Gon’s fingers stilled. His voice was husky. “Do you still want it?”

Obi-Wan pushed down on the invading flesh. “I told you, you never...have to ask.” He could feel Qui-Gon’s fingernails inside him. He knew how Qui-Gon’s fingernails felt when they were sunk inside his deepest places, and Qui-Gon thought he was beautiful, could not even wait to lubricate his cock before joining them in a way that was agonizing and perfect and uniquely theirs.

——


	3. Chapter 3

——

He ached for Qui-Gon. It was never enough. Every time they made love, he wanted more, though Qui-Gon always made sure they both came. He wanted to lay with him in the afterglow and touch the man’s face and feel those hands on him, soft instead of forceful, but he recognized his desires wandered too far in the direction of attachment. 

He found himself missing the way Qui-Gon would grip his shoulder while they stood on the balcony or stroke his hair when he was ill. Now they kept a certain distance, even during their frantic couplings. Obi-Wan had learned quickly that his attempts at kissing and slower caresses would be rebuffed, and he stopped trying. He could not be upset--what they had was beyond what most Masters and apprentices could claim. 

It was neither a banquet nor a scavenge. He was always hungry.

\--------

Qui-Gon broke his own off-planet rule when they were undercover in the Lower Levels of Galactic City. After leaving a nightclub, sweating through their civilian clothes, Qui-Gon pulled Obi-Wan down an empty alley and untied his apprentice’s pants, hoisted the younger man up. “Ride me?” He rasped in the darkness. 

Obi-Wan wrapped his legs around Qui-Gon’s hips and pressed his hands against the strong shoulders. “Yes,” he said, voice shaking, the need immediate and overwhelming. 

Qui-Gon hooked his arms under Obi-Wan’s naked thighs, parted his cheeks and swiftly impaled him. 

A Jedi was expected to endure pain. He was accustomed to the rough entry. It was a fleeting discomfort in exchange for moments of ecstasy. 

He only wished he could see Qui-Gon better, but the night was thick, and they had strayed too far from the light.

\---------

Qui-Gon was sent on a solo assignment. The Outer Rim. He would be gone for weeks, at least. Obi-Wan had asked to see him off at the Temple hangar, but Qui-Gon told him it would be best if he went alone.

He was advised to work on his Falling Star kata, but apart from that, as a senior apprentice it was understood that he should know where his attention was required.

Obi-Wan spent long hours practicing the Falling Star, until his joints trembled and exhaustion burned behind his eyes. Garen was on Malastaire but Siri was home, and so he ate midday meals with her. 

One evening, she suggested they spar again, just the two of them. He told her he needed to study. 

——

When he had not seen Qui-Gon for many days, Obi-Wan began to go into the man’s private quarters. He did not disturb anything, except to sit on the bed and feel the lingering presence of his teacher. He ran his hand along the blankets, wondering if Qui-Gon had ever laid between them and struggled with his attraction to Obi-Wan, prior to its consummation on Zellos II.

Qui-Gon held himself apart from Obi-Wan in ways that hurt Obi-Wan’s heart. He could acknowledge that here, in solitude, with Qui-Gon’s essence so strong. They still meditated together, and trained, and exchanged their jokes and wordplay, but he noticed a divide that had not been there before. He wanted to tell Qui-Gon that you could not adhere to the _no attachments_ tenet if you were already attached by a decade’s worth of memories, if your partner already loved you more than anyone he had ever known. Obi-Wan knew Qui-Gon was not deliberately cruel, but he kept Obi-Wan at arm’s length, while also spilling his seed inside him. It was a difficult road to travel.

Because he never knew if they were headed in the same direction.

He began sleeping in Qui-Gon’s room, stealing an intimacy he had never been given. Echoes of his Master were everywhere, and he was foolish, and let himself be carried away by them. He wrapped himself in the well-worn blankets and with his eyes closed it was almost like being held in Qui-Gon’s arms. 

In all the days of their separation, Qui-Gon had not contacted him, not to ask after his progress with the Falling Star or discuss his current mission. Finally Obi-Wan gave in and commed him, as he was naked on the bed. 

No answer.

He had a few saved files on his comm. He played a brief message from Qui-Gon, years old now:

_Padawan,_

_I am hopelessly mired in my tasks here. I had hoped to return to the Temple before your senior trials, but I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Know that I am thinking of you, Obi-Wan, and I would say I hope you do well, but with you, I don’t need to hope. We will celebrate as soon as I can remove myself from the claws of these bureaucrats. Good night, Obi-Wan, although I suppose for you, it’s good morning._

He had kept the message out of sentimentality, because he had been nervous for those trials and Qui-Gon had not been. He replayed it, settling into the warmth of his Master’s voice, running his own fingers along his chest and stomach. Played it again, and turned into the covers, pretending Qui-Gon was exploring his body with such slow, indulgent desire.

_I am thinking of you_

_Obi-Wan_

He inhaled the scent of the pillowcase. 

_You are beautiful_

_You were so good_

Again, and it was easy to conjure the sensation of the swollen cock at his entrance, the coarse fingers softly grasping his hips. 

_I am thinking of you_

Lips on his neck, his mouth. 

_I love you_

Those last words were a fantasy, but they made him spill his hot need on Qui-Gon’s blankets, without ever touching his penis. He rolled onto his back, panting, staring up at the ceiling through a veil of inexplicable tears.

His comm chirped. _Shavit_. He fumbled for it and cleared his throat. “Kenobi.”

“Obi-Wan? Did you call?”

He could hear the din of a crowd in the background. He had interrupted his Master...for what? His ears tingled with embarrassed warmth. “Yes..I’m sorry, it wasn’t important.”

“If you called, it must have been important. I know it’s late there.”

Obi-Wan felt a sudden shame, to be talking to Qui-Gon while laying in the man’s bed, splattered with his lack of control. “It was nothing, Master. Truly.”

“Have you been keeping busy in my absence? The negotiations have been consuming.”

“Yes, Master. I have devoted much of my time to kata and meditation.” He wasn’t sure why, but he added, “I have also used the opportunity to catch up with Siri, so I’ve staved off boredom for the most part.”

A pause. “I’m glad to hear it, Obi-Wan. But since you are _bored_ , as you say, I would like you to prepare a report on the trade dispute here on Antion. I will be back in a few days, so I expect you to focus exclusively on your research. This trade dispute has long-reaching effects, and it will serve you well to be better informed.”

Obi-Wan smiled. “Yes, Master.”

“I will see you soon, Padawan. Sleep well.”

And he did.

\----

It was four days before Qui-Gon returned from Antion. He arrived early in the morning, on the grey cusp of dawn, and Obi-Wan was waiting for him in the common area of their quarters.

Qui-Gon sat his travel sack on the floor. His tunics were rumpled. It was a long journey, and the man tended toward the unkempt when left to his own devices. “I assumed you would still be asleep.”

Obi-Wan stood from the couch and stretched. He wore loose sleep pants. “After your long absence, I thought you might appreciate some tea.” He started walking to the kitchen. 

“Wait,” Qui-Gon said softly. “Did you complete the report?”

Obi-Wan turned to face him. He slid a data chip from his pocket and held it out. “Of course, Master.”

Qui-Gon took slow steps toward him. “I hope you gave it sufficient attention, Obi-Wan.”

“It received my undivided attention. I promise.” Obi-Wan pressed the chip into Qui-Gon’s palm. He could sense the man’s relief in the Force, and it flooded him with satisfaction. He closed the last of the gap between them, and wound his arms around Qui-Gon’s neck in a tentative embrace. “I missed you.”

Qui-Gon gripped the arms, but did not move them. “Obi-Wan...this is not....”

They were standing so close, Qui-Gon’s breath warmed his lips. “Did you miss me?” Obi-Wan asked.

Qui-Gon studied his face. “Explicitly. Endlessly. But we cannot--”

“ _I_ can.” Obi-Wan murmured against his ear. “And I don’t care how you must behave to justify fucking me, as long as you keep fucking me.”

He realized his own power when it came to Qui-Gon. He was not totally helpless against the tide of his Master, and his heart could not break if he did not let it break. He sat on Qui-Gon’s lap, taking the pounding he had earned, watching the new day crest over the skyscrapers outside the window. 

——-


	4. Chapter 4

——-

For awhile, that was how it was: a building tension, a denial of emotion, until they were alone in a good enough place and then Qui-Gon would fill him to the brim. 

He was always hoping or reeling or craving or recovering.

Once it lasted a minute. 

——

Still he knew to be grateful for those minutes, the precious seconds when Qui-Gon would look at him and the air in the room would change, and Obi-Wan’s heart would quicken. He knew it was love, but he could not say it. 

Because it was against the Code to love Qui-Gon in that way.

But more than that, because he was afraid Qui-Gon would not say it back. 

——

Qui-Gon was talking to a village chief over a fire. His hands were on his hips, and the shadow of the flame flickered along his silhouette. He had no reason to glance over at Obi-Wan, but he did, and the corner of his mouth curved into the faintest of smiles.

Obi-Wan smiled back before he remembered himself, and lowered his eyes, finding something to do. 

\-----

On a crowded public transport, they were pressed close together, and with hours to go before reaching the capitol. Obi-Wan focused on maintaining some kind of separation between them--although their hips and knees touched, he leaned slightly away from Qui-Gon’s shoulder. 

They were both exhausted. 

“If I were not a Jedi, I would sleep until noon.” Obi-Wan said, rubbing his face. “Perhaps I would live in the middle of a desert, where no one would be around to wake me.”

Qui-Gon chuckled. “I thought you disliked the desert.”

“Yes, but you can get used to anything, if the payoff is pleasant enough.” Obi-Wan said, and immediately regretted it. He cleared his throat. “And then I would not be so pale.”

Qui-Gon’s arm came around him. “You are pale. In the sun, you freckle. Your freckles have been the highlight of more than one mission, for me.” Fingers combed through his short ponytail, and it sent a warm shiver down Obi-Wan’s neck. 

Obi-Wan watched the other lifeforms crammed onto the transport benches. Every individual carried their own light in the Force. He was engulfed in the light. Qui-Gon noticed his freckles in the light and had his arm around him here, where everyone could see. “If I were not a Jedi..” He began to say, but a thickness in his throat prevented him from finishing the thought. 

Qui-Gon seemed to understand, because he guided Obi-Wan’s head to his shoulder and they slept for the rest of the journey.

\-------

Holidays were hardly recognized in the Order. He had been given the river stone on his thirteenth birthday, and when he reached adulthood five years after that, he drank shots of bitterfruit with Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan turned twenty four during a mission to Olipe. 

The Olipe government was concerned that a large clan settled in the deep woods was resistant to traditional society to the point of danger. Rumors among locals hinted that more than one member of the clan had died from lack of proper medicine. The Council agreed to send a team to evaluate, being that Jedi were considered a neutral party. 

The settlement was remote, accessible only by river. An elderly human lived alone near the outskirts of the forest, and he had (begrudgingly) agreed to loan the Jedi his barge. 

When they arrived, it was dark. The old man looked them up and down, chewing on a stick. He wore ragged clothes and his gnarled grey hair ended in a knot halfway down his back. 

“Yer Jet-eye, huh? Both uh’yuh?”

Qui-Gon smiled. “We are, sir. And we are grateful for your generosity in lending us your barge.”

“Not many people wander all th’ way out here. Didn’t think yer kind was real.” He pointed a gangly finger at Obi-Wan. “This one looks about twelve. Yuh sure y’ain’t pullin my leg? My barge is my livelihood and all. Y’uhd condemn me to starvation if yuh took it.”

“We will return it promptly, you have my word. And actually, my apprentice is twenty four, today.” Qui-Gon said. 

“Ha! No foolin?” The man hobbled over to a chair on his porch, returned with a cracked jug. He looked at Obi-Wan through watery, bloodshot eyes. “When I was yer age, all I cared about was screwin and boozin. Here then, take it.” The old man pushed the jug at Obi-Wan. 

Qui-Gon hid his smile behind a hand. 

Obi-Wan glanced at him, heat itching up his ears, before he did the proper thing and accepted the gift. “Thank you very much.”

“Just make sure yuh bring it back. The barge, I mean. And the jug too, if yuh can. No use throwin out a decent jug.”

They bowed and took a lunging step onto the deck. The man gave the barge a solid push and then disappeared into the shadows near his dwelling. 

——-

Obi-Wan sat with the jug in his lap. The night’s wind was cool and clean, so far away from civilization and its usual impurities. He breathed in calmness. 

Qui-Gon had climbed below deck for a quick exploration, reappeared bearing blankets. The moonlight caught the silver in his hair, and Obi-Wan felt the sudden urge to touch each gleaming thread. He appreciated them the way Qui-Gon appreciated his freckles. 

He drummed his fingers on the glass jug thoughtfully. “I’m trying to decide whether this is safe to consume. What if it’s actually his spittoon?”

Qui-Gon hunkered down beside him and spread a rough hewn blanket over their legs. He leaned back on his arms and sighed. “I’d wager the contents would still contain a high alcohol level, even in that case.”

Obi-Wan laughed, popped the lid off and took a test whiff. He grimaced and held it away from his face. “I have a feeling this would liquify my organs.”

Qui-Gon took the jug. “I wouldn’t want the man of the hour to succumb to such a cruel fate. I’ll go first.” He swallowed, shivered. 

Obi-Wan, morbidly curious now, followed suit. He coughed and sputtered.“That. Is. _Swill._ It tastes like...like…”

“An old timer mixed it up in his bathtub?”

“And neglected to clean that bathtub. Ever.” Obi-Wan wiped his mouth. “I think I’d rather stay twenty three, if this is my initiation to twenty four.”

But it was a long way to their destination, and somehow, they finished the jug.

———

Obi-Wan watched the stars vibrate against the black backdrop of the sky, little spots of blurred white light. He crossed his arms behind his head. The stars seemed impossibly far away, though he had traveled among them more than most, had seen them streak by in hyperspace, going places he would always remember, places he would eventually forget. 

Qui-Gon was spread out next to him. The barge floated at a lazy pace. 

“How does twenty four feel?” 

Obi-Wan shrugged. “Like I just drank half a gallon of coolant.” As potent as the old man’s present was, they could quickly metabolize the alcohol. If they wanted to. “How did you celebrate your twenty fourth?”

“Oh, I can’t even recall,” Qui-Gon sighed. “I was Knighted by then, so I’m sure I was off on one of those miserable assignments reserved for novices.”

“Ah,” Obi-Wan continued to gaze up at the studded canopy, but he felt as if he had been pushed off the side of the barge into cold water. These were things he did not like to think about—the considerable difference in age between them, and the uncertain specter of Knighthood hovering on the horizon. It’s not that he didn’t want to be a Jedi Knight. He knew it was what he was meant to do. 

He just hadn’t anticipated...this. The moon blurred, and he blinked back tears. 

Qui-Gon turned on his side, facing Obi-Wan, and wiped the unbidden moisture away with gentle fingers.“I have never been one to follow the rules, Obi-Wan. I follow the will of the Force. I trust in it more than the Council, more than the Order itself. My own Master was not...fond of my “insolent spiritedness”, as he would say. And I suppose that only fueled my desire to forge a different path. Master Windu has warned me that my impulsiveness can be dangerous. Things have not always worked out the way I planned, and others have been hurt in the process. But you..” He smiled, tremulously, and Obi-Wan was shocked by the wet gleam in his blue eyes, “I do not know how to explain my actions, except that I never want to hurt you. I told myself that I would stop—“

Obi-Wan shook his head. “It’s alright, Master, you needn’t---”

Qui-Gon stroked his hair, spoke softly. “It’s not alright. You carry a sadness inside you now. I am your Master. It is..wrong. I don’t know how to make it right.”

“I don’t need you to make it right.” Obi-Wan whispered.

“The right thing would be to relinquish my claim to you.”

Obi-Wan sat up. His heart was thundering in his ears. “I will have no other Master. I...you…” Qui-Gon would send him away? With his trials so near? He felt a wave of nausea. 

Qui-Gon grasped his shoulders. “It is the right thing but I can’t do it. Just as it would the right thing not to touch you, but I fail every time. I thought if I treated it as a release, we could just...enjoy it, as physical beings. But I was fooling myself. I allowed the delusion because I wanted you. The more I wanted you, the greater the distance I forced between us.”

Obi-Wan scrubbed his eyes with his forearm. It had been hours since they set off, with hours left until they reached the remote settlement. They were drifting in darkness, insects buzzing in a constant monotone, plants stirring listlessly as they floated by. “I’ve told you, I want this.”

Qui-Gon smiled, cradling Obi-Wan’s chin in his palm. “You say that now, but you are twenty four. One day, you may look back on what we’ve done together and think differently.”

Obi-Wan pushed the hand away and climbed to his feet. “You did not care that I was twenty one when you pulled yourself off with me beside you. And you didn’t care when I was twenty three, and you guided your cock into my—“

“Padawan!” Qui-Gon stood, crying out the title, covering his own mouth in horror as their damnation further crystallized. “I have done this to you. You were _innocent-_ ”

“Master. Qui-Gon. I am not innocent, I am not ruined.” Obi-Wan gripped the other man’s face. “I don’t know how to do this, to be _detached_ from you. How can I be? You are the center of my life. When have you ever valued dishonesty? Should I be dishonest, and say I can forget? Say that I want to forget, when every last part of me wants to remember?”

Qui-Gon drew him close. “I cannot bear the thought of you hating me. I fear we have already begun down a path that will end in bitterness and pain.” 

Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut and leaned into the strong, solid body. “I couldn’t hate you. I do not look for you in every room and lay awake at night because I hate you. it’s because, because—“

Qui-Gon kissed him, an honest kiss, deep and deliberate. They had never kissed this way, like lovers. Obi-Wan could taste the faint staleness of the alcohol, but it was Qui-Gon he tasted foremost, that taste that made him kiss back in earnest. Qui-Gon’s beard tickled his skin and he felt like he was weaving.

Probably because he was drunk, on a barge. 

When their lips parted, Qui-Gon wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan’s waist. “What can I do, Obi-Wan?”

It was a question too heavy for his mind in that moment. He was already weighed down by the alcohol and he lingered in the embrace for a minute longer, before Qui-Gon helped him below deck. 

The living quarters were musty and ill-kept. “Our new friend isn’t much inclined to housekeeping.” Qui-Gon warned him, as they stepped over rusted buckets, empty liquor bottles and old food wrappers, their way meagerly lit by a few lanterns. A narrow cot was pushed into the corner. It was not the most appealing bed Obi-Wan had ever seen--his mind supplied all sorts of explanations for the stains on the mattress--but it was far from the worst. Qui-Gon slipped out of his cloak and spread it over the bed. 

“Won’t you be cold?”

Qui-Gon’s fingers skimmed down Obi-Wan’s braid. “I doubt it.”

Obi-Wan smiled in thanks, crawling into the bed. He closed his eyes and was surprised when Qui-Gon slid in beside him. Another unspoken law that the man was flouting. Obi-Wan laid his head on the broad chest, listening to the reassuring rhythm there. Qui-Gon idly played with his nerf tail, as he had on that transport weeks earlier.

He sensed no tension. Here they were, totally alone, and he wanted to do nothing with Qui-Gon but this. He could do _this_ forever. Except he was twenty four, and the rational voice in his head reminded him that he would not be a Padawan forever. He wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to fall in love as a normal person, outside the Jedi Order. Did normal people fall in love and have countless nights just like this? His throat ached. 

Qui-Gon tipped his face up and kissed him again. “My young and melancholy apprentice.”

Obi-Wan tucked an errant strand of hair behind Qui-Gon’s ear. “My friends have always teased me for being too rigid. Garen told me once..he said I was serious even in the creche and that’s how he knew I would be a good Jedi.” He laughed ruefully. “Believe it or not, I do not want to be the grave Jedi who thinks only of duty.”

“You won’t be.” Qui-Gon eased his hand under Obi-Wan’s robe and tunics, to scratch his bare back. “You could not be.”

He hesitantly wove his arm around Qui-Gon’s middle. He was not ignorant to the irony--he had taken this man into his body without _any_ deliberation, but his nerves coiled and tightened when he tried to initiate casual little affections. “If I ask you something, will you tell me the answer? I mean--”

Qui-Gon’s nails paused on his back. “Yes.”

Oh. Obi-Wan swallowed and lifted his head enough to look Qui-Gon in the eye. “Did you love Tahl?” He could not help asking. Her death had followed them a long time; Obi-Wan had worried Qui-Gon would never emerge from that suffocating shroud of grief. 

“Yes. I loved her. But we never...she was cautious. Rightfully so.”

Obi-Wan just nodded against him. It was not any sort of revelation. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I ---I know it’s private.”

“No, I have been thinking of her lately. More than usual.” Qui-Gon resumed the soft scratching. “ I loved her for what seemed like my entire life, and then she was gone. I assumed I would have the time to say what I wanted to say to her. Perhaps that is why I acted in such haste with you. I waited for her for decades. With you, I could not wait.”

The words soaked into him like rain into drought-cracked earth. The barge rocked and Qui-Gon tightened his arm around his shoulder. 

“I found solace with other partners. Always for one night, and never with meaning. I loved her all the while. I thought I could sate my desire for you without putting your heart at risk.”

Obi-Wan spoke carefully. “With me...you do not feel as you did for her?”

Qui-Gon rested his chin on the top of his head. “You are two very different people.”

He remembered Tahl: brilliant and bitingly funny and so striking. She was a woman who commanded respect and attention; a Jedi who held her own against anyone. Most of all, he remembered the way Qui-Gon had looked at her. Obi-Wan was indeed very different than Tahl. 

“As I said, she was cautious. Your friends are not wrong when they say you can be serious, and cautious too. But that day...you didn’t waver, or stop to consider the consequences. I sense only your willingness, eagerness. Even when I have been cruel.”

Obi-Wan felt transcendent, felt as though he would tear his hair out. “You are not cruel, Master. I have expected too much.”

Qui-Gon shifted until they were face to face. “I set your expectations and then let my selfish fear keep them from being realized. It is not unreasonable to expect certain things from the man who has...if it seems as if I’ve been using you, I want you to know, that is not my intention whatsoever. I am in over my head. You are meant to reach such great heights, Obi-Wan. I am distracting and confusing you, because I couldn’t just control myself.”

Obi-Wan laid very still, gazing into Qui-Gon’s eyes. “The Force brought me to you. I cannot help but think this is right with the Force. I won’t go back to the way it was. I don’t want to be a quick release to you.”

“You are not. You have never been,” Qui-Gon murmured, kissing him, hands caressing his face and neck. “It is right with the Force I know. But I am not the Council. They would surely think differently.”

“Qui-Gon Jinn cares about what the Council will think?”

“Not exactly. But _you_ care. You could sit on that Council one day.”

“I could do both.” Obi-Wan said, and there was an edge of confidence and rebellion in his voice. 

“I think you can do anything, Obi-Wan Kenobi.” Qui-Gon smiled, studying him, and Obi-Wan sensed that this was a conversation he would replay in his head often in all his years to come.

He did not want to be a quick release. He did not want to be released.

—-

Qui-Gon laid with him as the liquor and emotions burned away into simple exhaustion. His hands traveled Obi-Wan’s body—legs, backside, chest and belly, but without immediate lust. He told Obi-Wan he had read a bit about Stewjoni culture in the Archives.

Obi-Wan knew next to nothing about his home planet. 

“On Stewjon, birthdays are cause for great celebration. A plague devastated the population there many generations ago. Before going to sleep on your birthday, a loved one is supposed to sing a specific song, as a sign of gratitude and hope for good luck.” 

And then Qui-Gon moved his lips to Obi-Wan’s ear, and sang:

“ _I am happy you are alive  
May you live another year   
In good health and without strife  
May you live another year.”_

It was not a beautiful song, and Qui-Gon was not an especially skilled singer. But Obi-Wan has to turn away from him when he was done, and the lantern light looked wet and smeared. 

“Master, do you—“

“I would die for you, Obi-Wan.”

He fell asleep staring at the light, with Qui-Gon against his back.

——-

He woke up sometime later, because his head was pounding and his mouth was uncomfortably dry. Qui-Gon slumbered on with his arm tucked under his head, long hair draped over his shoulder. 

Obi-Wan needed to use the fresher. He needed to drink water. But he did neither of those things. Instead he watched Qui-Gon sleep.

_I would die for you._

——

It was neither feast nor famine; it was sustenance, it was finally and quietly enough. 

He began to see missions as more than the expansion of his skills and experience, but the deepening of his connection to Qui-Gon, deep as the rich, black skies they sat beneath on Tanaab and Alderaan, deep as the uninhibited kisses behind locked doors.

“Deeper,” he managed to whisper, balling the sheets in his hands, spreading his legs until the muscles in his thighs ached. 

Qui-Gon’s skin took on a golden sheen when he sweat, his hair turning brown to black at the ends, where the wet strands clung to his neck. The man leaned over him, laughing softly even as his eyes gleamed with hunger. “How much deeper can I go?”

But there was always deeper, something new to feel, another detail to learn. His fingernails raked over Qui-Gon’s arms as hammering thrusts shook the bed. 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and let Qui-Gon fuck him the way they both needed, the kind of fucking where his hips burned, his spine melted and he was consumed.

———

They made mistakes. A Queen’s consort asked to walk with Obi-Wan along the water’s edge. 

“You have a good teacher.” He said. 

Obi-Wan’s hands were folded behind his back. He tipped his head towards the man, who was thin with silvered, neat hair. “Thank you. I think so too.”

“He teaches you more than your Jedi arts, hmm?”

There was a gentle knowingness to his tone. Obi-Wan breathed evenly. “What makes you think that?”

“Your eyes linger on one another. He is careful when he touches you in public. Only your shoulder, only for a few seconds.” The consort smiled. “You are a serious young man, but a young man cannot hide when he is in love, not from those who are looking.”

He looked down at his bare feet, toes half-buried in the white sand. He was clothed except for his boots and stockings, but he might as well have been naked before the perceptive gaze. The ocean was calm. He imagined running into it, to avoid the rest of the conversation, and keep his sacred, private thing. 

“In our culture, two men together in that way is taboo. But a teacher and student together? Anathema. Your good teacher would be castrated and then driven out with torches, and you would be shunned.” The consort smiled, but his eyes were sad. “When I was a young man I was also serious, but not nearly as brave.”

“My Master is brave. He is very important to me.”

“Brave, perhaps, but foolish. He should watch for torches.”

————


End file.
